Chapter 17
Seventeen
Jersey Boy
War didn’t know how to take a day off.
It just changed volume.
The day after the club hit felt like that. Not quiet, exactly. Just muffled. Like somebody had thrown a heavy blanket over the world and left all the sharp edges under there with us.
We were back in Blackjack’s office. Same map spread across the desk. Same notebooks with half-legible scribbles. Same coffee that had been reheated one too many times.
Blackjack had one hand wrapped around a mug, the other braced on the desk near the map.
8-Ball sat on the corner of the desk, arms folded, eyes tracking everything.
Snake Eyes slouched in a chair with his boots planted wide, flipping a pen between his fingers.
Spade leaned against the filing cabinet.
Valkyrie stood near me against the wall, arms folded, face unreadable, safe key glinting at her collarbone.
The phone on the desk sat between us all, screen dark, like we were just waiting for it to bite.
Liberty’s voice then crackled through the speaker.
“…middle column, four pages up from the bottom,” she said. “Little notation that says ‘shore investment.’ That’s our states side of their shit.”
Blackjack traced something on the map with his finger, eyes narrowed. He had copies of the ledger photos laid out—pages from the war book Valkyrie and I had snapped in her basement. Now Liberty was adding more into the mix she had taken herself.
We then heard the faint thunk of a safe door through the line. Metal on metal. Valkyrie’s eyes flicked down like she could see it from here.
“Okay,” Liberty said. “It’s locked up. Judging from what I sent you, there’s a little shell business tied to a warehouse in South Jersey.
Listed as an auto salvage, which we all know means anything but that.
Also unconnected to that bike and the junkyard on my turf but maybe a Steel Serpent cover?
” she asked aloud. “Another one’s a storage spot in an industrial park outside Camden.
And a third that’s pretending to be a plumbing supply place in a nothing town off the turnpike. ”
“All possibilities,” Blackjack said.
8-Ball leaned in as Blackjack flicked through the photos. Clean handwriting. Columns of numbers. Company names that meant nothing until you looked at the LLC tucked under them and saw the Vincino fingerprints pressed into the margins somewhere.
Blackjack grunted.
“So that’s what you got close to us,” he said. “Anything bigger this side of the river?”
“No,” Liberty said. “Not on paper at least. Their big stuff’s still in Philly.
Skyscrapers, riverfront buildings, fancy glass towers.
Legal fronts with ten illegal ones buried in their basements.
Out here? You’re looking at satellite bullshit.
Middle-man stash points. Money counting.
Product cooling. Nothing they’re going to cry over if it burns. They’ll be annoyed, not injured.”
8-Ball tapped the map with one blunt finger. “We could hit these three in a night,” he said. “Roll in, break shit, roll out. But if all we’re doing is putting dents in fenders when the engine’s still purring…” He let it trail.
Snake Eyes stopped flipping his pen. “We’d be spending bodies on something they can write off with one insurance claim,” he said. “Feels like pissing in the ocean and calling it a flood.”
He wasn’t wrong.
We could go in. We could make a mess. Hell, we’d probably enjoy it more than it was healthy. But the ledger pages were clear enough: the money that mattered the most was stacked closer to Tesauro’s house. The skyscrapers. The condos. The docks.
“You want me to have the girls start casing any of it?” Liberty asked. “We can keep an eye on the Jersey spots. See who comes and goes. Maybe catch a face that matters to them doing something stupid.”
“Maybe,” Blackjack said. “Eyes on everything you can manage without overextending. I don’t want you out guns or down bodies if it won’t matter in the long run. No point in wasting resources on the ones that won’t actually hurt them.”
Liberty let out an audible sigh. “I agree. I’ll keep babysitting the bomb. If shit gets dicey Alice, let me know. I’ll send bodies down to help.”
“We appreciate the childcare,” 8-Ball said dryly.
She snorted. “Did Roman give you anything else yet?” she asked. “Beyond oaths and promises?”
“Not specifics,” Blackjack said. “Just told me he’s got fail-safes and he’s going to use them. Something that’ll drag Tesauro’s attention to one spot. He likes keeping his drama close to his chest.”
“Old men with empires and secrets. Their love language truly is a bunch of cryptic bullshit.”
“You’ll be looped in when he stops talking in poetry,” Blackjack said. “Until then, keep your compound tight and your girls close to their guns.”
“Always do,” she said. There was a pause, then softer, “Tell your boys… tell them Raptor’s name isn’t just in your clubhouse. We’re carrying him here too. The Shore Vipers don’t forget.”
Everyone in the room went a little still.
“We appreciate that,” Blackjack said quietly.
“Now go plan some violence,” Liberty said, shoving the mood sideways before it turned sentimental. “Valkyrie, don’t let them get too cute though. I want payback and some fun too.”
Valkyrie’s mouth pulled into something that almost counted as a smile. “I promise,” she said.
The line then clicked dead.
Blackjack sat back, rubbing a hand over his face. He stared at the map like he could will it to give up an answer it hadn’t yet.
“So, that’s where we are,” he said. “Roman’s playing chess.
We’ve got a ledger full of places we can punch that’ll sting Tesauro but not cripple.
Big ticket items are in a city that will bring cops and cameras down on our heads if we go full scorched earth.
Maybe before we even get across the bridge.
He hit our strips, our bar, our armory, Dante’s club, Raptor.
We owe him. But we’re not throwing ourselves into downtown Philly without a parachute and an escape plan. ”
8-Ball nodded slowly. “We can hurt him laterally,” he said. “The Jersey spots, the smaller fronts. Hit enough of them and he starts to feel static in his cashflow. Annoy a man like that long enough and maybe he moves his hand where we can break it.”
“Annoyance isn’t enough,” Snake Eyes said now leaning forward. “We need leverage. Fear. Something bigger that makes him think twice before sending another SUV to any of our doors.”
“That’s what Roman’s supposed to be cooking up,” Spade said. “Tesauro’s afraid of losing his spot at that table more than he’s afraid of us throwing bricks at his windows.”
Blackjack exhaled. “So, we do both,” he said.
“Let’s prep to hit the smaller spots, but we don’t pull the trigger until we know how Roman’s setting the board.
No solo trips into Philly. No cowboy bullshit.
You see anything Vincino, you don’t touch it.
Not yet. Not unless it’s some lone body you can snuff out without risking your own skin. ”
He looked at me, then at Valkyrie.
“You two stay put for today,” he added. “You’ve been running point on too much of this. Take the damn chance to breathe while we still have it.”
“Don’t threaten me with rest,” I said.
He snorted. “Get out of here,” he said. “We’ll keep chewing on this. I’ll update you if anything changes.”
Valkyrie and I peeled off as Snake Eyes and Spade stepped closer to the desk, talking through angles. 8-Ball leaned over the map again, eyebrows drawn together.
Out in the main room, the clubhouse was in that strange middle state of half-normal, half-not.
Guns on the table being cleaned. A couple of guys shooting billiards. One of Roadkill’s kid’s drawings still stuck to the fridge in the corner from before Blackjack sent all the kids to safer houses.
We drifted toward the bar.
Jackal was behind it, towel over his shoulder, bottle in one hand, polishing glassware that probably didn’t need it. Badger hustled past with a crate of soda and water, nearly tripped over his own boots, and got an absentminded smack to the back of the head from Mirage.
Tanya sat on a stool near the end of the bar, one knee hooked onto the rung, dark hair up in a messy knot.
She had that glow of someone younger but was just as much done with everyone’s shit as 8-Ball was.
Quinn was on the other side, arms resting on the bar, fingers wrapped around a glass of something clear and innocent-looking that she wasn’t really drinking.
Her eyes had the red rims of someone who’d cried herself out and kept going anyway.
Rebecca moved past us with a tray of plates from the kitchen, hair up in a bandana, expression sharp and tired.
“Hey, Valkyrie,” Tanya said when she saw us. “Devil Boy.” Her eyes flicked over us like she was checking for fresh blood. “You two still in one piece?”
“For now,” Valkyrie said, sliding onto the stool next to her.
“Define one piece,” I added.
Jackal snorted. “That joke’s getting really old,” he said. “What are you having?”
“Coffee,” I said.
“Same,” Valkyrie put in.
Jackal arched a brow. “Living wild.”
“War hangover,” I said. “Don’t want to get drunk enough to forget why my ribs hurt just yet.”
“Fair.” He poured coffee into two mugs and slid them over.
Quinn glanced at us, offered a small, strained smile. “You two good?” she asked. Her hand tightened around her glass. “Heard Dante’s club last night… wasn’t boring.”
“That’s one fucking word for it,” I said.
“Almost everyone made it out,” Valkyrie added. “Raptor...”
Quinn’s face tightened. “I liked that kid,” she said softly. “He always offered to run and get me snacks when I was stuck waiting for Miami to get back from a run.” She shook her head once, like she could dislodge the image. “You were both there?”
“We were,” I said. “He went down fighting. That’s not nothing.”
She swallowed, eyes shining for a second before she blinked it back.